I don't just read books. I devour them. I fall into them. I mourn their end. Someday I'll have a library with floor-to-ceiling shelves and a sliding ladder. But, until then, I live in a tiny 1950s house with three other people and a 65 pound black lab named Tinkerbell. Consequently, I was an early adapter in the e-reader craze. Sure the balance is a bit off when reading in bed. And there's no new book smell. But I fell hard for my e-reader.
Lately I have been missing the tactile experience of a book. Last night I started and later finished reading the Camilla Engman edition of the suitcase series. I found that intimate feeling I have been missing. You or someone you know may be an e-reader junkie too. But, thankfully, we have a cure.